


Intimacy

by ReasonablyDramatic



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Brian is stubborn, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Oneshot, Protective Brian May, Roger is our smol bean but he is strong, Roger needs a hug, Smut, Vanilla?, but he doesn't want it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 13:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17850569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReasonablyDramatic/pseuds/ReasonablyDramatic
Summary: Another tour is over. Roger is alone in his mansion until Brian enters without being invited.





	Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not show this work to any members of Queen or people associated with them. This is a work of pure fiction and it's not meant to offend, hurt or disturb anyone. I am of course willing to take it down if necessary.
> 
> ***
> 
> Ok, so I don't even know what this is?? I wrote most of this last night and I wanted to write something sweet and vanilla, but since I am me it got soaked in angst a little bit?!  
> I didn't put much thought into the timeline, I imagine them to be about 30 here but you can imagine whatever you'd like. :-)  
> This is a Oneshot, and I am going to continue my other fic in case you're wondering, I'm just not sure how I want that to continue right now but I am thinking about it!
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I have never written actual smut before so I hope I didn't fuck up too badly. Sry for any mistakes, English is not my mother tongue, bla, bla, bla...

Roger is bored.

 

Queen is famous. They have actual money now and one of Roger’s first acts after getting an unmentionable amount of royalties in one go was to buy a house – no, an _estate_ – outside of London. He loves the city – to be in the middle of everything fast, the relatively short way home after a party, spontaneous meetings with his friends in a pub. But he also loves the quietness and tranquillity of the countryside, the wide-open fields and meadows and the forest, being woken up by a warm sunbeam tickling his nose and birds singing outside his window. And the way into town is not very long after all. People who don’t know him well are often surprised when they find out where and how he lives, they usually expect him to have a house in London like Freddie does.

 

Roger is bored.

 

Not in the sense that there is nothing to do or no one to meet, no – the problem is that he doesn’t _want_ to do any of the things that come to mind. He isn’t even sure if he wants to get out of bed at all. The sheets are soft and warm, the sun shines through the big window and lights up the room.

 

Roger doesn’t want to _do_ anything. He rolls over to the edge of the bed and takes two steps to close the floor-length curtains before diving into the nest of pillows and blankets again.

 

There is a recording studio in the barn, more instruments than (according to Brian) any remotely sane person should be allowed to have, a beautiful garden, a kitchen with full cupboards and fridge, a wine cellar… Hmm, that doesn’t sound so bad – not that _wine_ is the main beverage stored down there, Roger somehow feels too young for that anyway though Freddie gifted him a few bottles of horribly expensive and apparently very good wine since he is into it. Anyway, it’s too bad Roger doesn’t want to get up and go down two floors for a bottle of wine (or rum?). Becoming an alcoholic on top of being a rock star and musician is also very low on his priority list and he knows it’s no good idea to drink alone in a situation like this if he wants it to stay that way.

 

It’s post-tour blues. They came home three days ago and were sent home by their manager to “rest and recover from all the buzz” before getting back to jamming, writing and recording new stuff together as Queen.

 

The transition from loud stages, interviews and parties to a silent, airy house and no immediate engagements isn’t easy for Roger. Tour life can be suffocating. Especially in the end everyone is happy it’s over after spending too much time in cars and on planes, living in hotels that are always different but the same, fans everywhere they go when outside during the morning, annoying interviews and playing more or less the same show every night for weeks after sitting around for soundcheck almost all day long.

 

He groans into the pillow.

 

The phone on his bedside table rings. Why did he have to put one of them _there_? Must be a masochistic thing. Roger pulls the pillow over his ears. It stops after a while, so only his breath and the sound of the birds outside are audible again, muffled by the window glass.

 

For a long time, Roger is half-asleep. Inside and outside he feels a bit numb, bis thoughts scrambled and fuzzy. Then there are noises of someone entering the house, coming up the stairs and finally opening the bedroom door. There are several options on who it could be. Not many people have the code to get into the estate at all. And of the ones who do, not everyone is likely to show up out of the blue without making an appointment over the telephone first. The telephone Roger didn’t pick up. Now he wishes he did, so he could have made up an excuse to avoid having not only to talk but to _meet_ someone in person, no matter who it is.

 

Actually, Roger knows who it is by listening to the way they walk.

 

“Hey, Rog!”

 

Brian. Of course it’s Brian.

 

“Hm.”, he grumbles.

 

“I’m happy to see you, too.”

 

“Go away.”

 

“You didn’t pick up the phone, I thought maybe you’re outside or busy doing something else.”

 

“If you thought I was busy, then why did you come?” Roger is still hugging his pillow, facing away from Brian towards the window that is hidden behind the heavy, closed curtains. “Didn’t you want to visit your children?”

 

“Yes, that was two days ago, they are well and so are their mum and her boyfriend, thank you very much.”, Brian says without jealousy in his voice. “Then I thought I would go and see what you’re doing, considering how down you were after the last tour.”

 

“I’m not down for anything.”

 

The mattress dips as Brian rounds the bed and sits between Roger and the window.

 

“It’s a beautiful day outside, why are the curtains drawn? The sun would probably shine in here.”

 

“Go away, Brian. You make me feel all woozy.”

 

“I’m not _doing_ anything.”

 

“You exist”, Roger quips. “That’s enough.”

 

Brian sighs and gets up, he moves to the door and opens it.

 

“Wait!”, Roger says in the last moment. Brian turns around to see Roger lifting his head out of his nest. His hair is a mess, his eyes are pleading Brian to stay.

 

Brian slips out of his clogs and climbs onto the bed, laying down on his side next to Roger.

 

“You are so stupid”, he says and brushes a strand of hair behind Roger’s ear.

 

“No, you have to say that I’m an idiot.”

 

“Why?”

 

Roger doesn’t answer, so Brian goes on.

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“I’m your idiot”, Roger smiles. Brian snorts.

 

“Are you?”

 

Roger looks away.

 

“Only if you want.”

 

“How stupid would I be if I turned down an offer like this?” Brian laughs quietly and starts to draw small circles and shapes on Roger’s hip with his fingers.

 

“Not as stupid as me”, Roger laughs and plays with the fabric of Brian’s shirt.

 

“You aren’t stupid, Rog. You are beautiful inside and outside.”

 

“That’s very cheesy, Brian.”

 

They fucked on this last tour. High on adrenaline and glistening with stage sweat, they got it on for the first time without thinking about definitions or consequences. They felt as if they were in a bubble while they were abroad. Both knew that there is more to their relationship than pure lust, teasing and steamy sex. The tension between them had been high even before the tour. It had caused Freddie to make jokes about them that in turn made John roll his eyes fondly.

 

They fucked on this last tour, but that was it. Brian has feared that the bursting of the tour bubble may have been the end of all of this. Apparently, it’s not.

 

“You call me sweet like I’m some kind of cheese”, Brian sings.

 

“NOOO!”, Roger says and covers his ears with his hands in mock horror. “Not that song. I don’t like it.”

 

“What? Why?” Brian is surprised. Roger has grumbled about the weird time signatures when he first showed him the song ‘Sweet Lady’, but he hadn’t said that he didn’t like the song itself.

 

“It’s about someone using someone else, isn’t it? About someone who takes, takes, takes and doesn’t let go of you, and you can’t drop them either. ‘I’m just a fool to make you a home.’ I guess it hits too close to home.”

 

“What do you mean? The song is not about you, Rog.”, Brian says gently.

 

“It could be”, Roger says. “I know I’m horrible when it comes to all this emotional crap. Anyone would be crazy to want a serious relationship with me. I know I’m a good lay”, Roger smirks, “but intimacy freaks me out. You know this, Brian. And if you didn’t write this song about me, it obviously means that you always pick the same kind of shitheads. So, it’s on you, really.”

 

“Charming. Still, it’s not about you, it isn’t even about me.”, Brian says, still drawing patterns on Roger’s hip.

 

He thinks of the times Roger turned his head away when he wanted to caress his cheek tenderly, or when he took the lead and steered things on a rougher, faster road when Brian had intended to go slow and worship and cherish Roger in the _loving_ way he deserves it in Brian’s opinion (so if Roger’s way was a highway, Brian’s was a path in a flowery meadow). Every single time Roger managed to sabotage his plans somehow, whispering the naughtiest things in his ear with his deep voice or touching him in a way that drove him _insane_ with need.

 

“Cheddar”, Roger says out of the blue. “Gouda. Camembert.”

 

“What are you doing now?”

 

“I’m calling you like kinds of cheese”, Roger says. “You know, since you’re here, I could _eat you up_. But I don’t want to _hold you down_ , I’d rather have it the other way around.”

 

“Lazy”, Brian says.

 

“No, it’s Sweet LaDy with a ‘D’. You should know, you wrote the song.”

 

“You are insufferable”, Brian smiles.

 

“I hereby allow you to make me suffer. Please, I’m all yours”, Roger smirks and spreads his arms dramatically.

 

Brian scoots forward to kiss Roger lightly on the lips. It’s tender, innocent almost. Roger of course can’t wait and pushes his tongue out. He licks Brian’s bottom lip and runs it along the crack between Brian’s lips in an attempt to get his mouth open for a French kiss.

 

Brian does open his mouth, but he doesn’t go faster. He kisses Roger slowly, sweetly, and he rolls himself on top of Roger without breaking the contact. Roger moans and it’s a bid for more; Brian doesn’t take the bait. Roger starts unbuttoning Brian’s shirt, gets to impatient and decides to rip it apart instead. He grinds up towards Brian, bites his lower lip.

 

This time Brian doesn’t give in. He doesn’t let Roger’s fire lick over into himself and take over control, throwing all rational thoughts out of the window – because he knows they are flames of destruction, and it can be great fun to be destroyed, but it doesn’t necessarily bring him closer to his goal, which is Roger’s soul and not his libido although he loves that too since it’s a part of him.

 

Soon they are both undressed and skin rubs skin.

 

“I’m not really into vanilla, Brian”, Roger says when he wants to turn on his stomach but can’t because Brian is holding his hips down. “I didn’t think you were, either.”

 

Brian nuzzles his neck and kisses the skin under his ear lightly, his hands caressing Roger’s sides, his butt, his thighs. He sinks down a bit so their erections are brushing each other and Roger growls at the sensation. He wants to put a pillow under his hips and guide Brian’s dick to his entrance, he knows he has lube in the bedside drawer – too bad Brian bats his hands away and throws the pillow on the floor.

 

“What are you doing, Brian? Don’t you want to fuck me? – Push your big, fat cock in my hole and sink in until your balls slap against my ass with every move? Take me from behind like a dog, on my knees like an animal, breed me until you can’t control it anymore and fill me with your warm cum?”

 

“No, Roger”, Brian whispers, close to his ear. “Let’s take it slow this time.”

 

“What? But I don’t do that, you know that!” Roger is losing his calm, sweat forms itself in his armpits and on his neck.

 

“Lube?”, Brian asks and Roger points to the bedside table, holds onto Brian’s shoulders as he leans over and fishes the lube out of the top drawer. Roger has hope until Brian lubes up both their erections, pumping them slowly with one hand while looking in Roger’s eyes.

 

Roger can see longing and _caring_ and love, and it scares him. He tries to meet Brian’s gaze, but he has to look away after a few short moments, confusion and tension obvious on his face.

 

“What is it, Rog?”

 

They grind against each other, Roger putting one knee up for more leverage on the slippery sheets. Nothing seems to ground him right now.

 

“Please just fuck me, Brian”, Roger hisses. “You can fuck my mouth if you want to. I…”

 

Brian squeezes his hip and shuts him up with a kiss, rolling his tongue over Roger’s. Roger can feel his climax building as their erections keep sliding against each other. The kiss is broken as Brian tries to make eye contact again and Roger loses himself in it for a few seconds before averting his eyes once more. He wishes Brian would just flip him over and thrust into him in a mix of pain and pleasure, making him arch his back in ecstasy by shoving two of his fingers in Roger’s mouth, filling him from both ends…

 

He touches him as if he is made of glass, as if he needs to be protected and taken care of and Roger knows he is wasting Brian’s time, he wants to, but he can’t accept it, he can’t…

 

“Brian, please”, Roger says. Something about his flushed and almost desperate expression makes Brian stop and he finally pushes a finger in Roger’s entrance, they are slick already anyway. Roger pushes into it hungrily and wraps his leg around Brian’s hip to give him better access.

 

When Brian replaces his finger with his dick, Roger’s breath hitches and he shudders, throwing his head back and to the side on the mattress. Brian folds Roger’s other leg upwards a bit and rocks into him. Roger squirms underneath him and rakes his hands across his shoulders, never one for laying down still.

 

They look into each other’s eyes when their climax ripples through them simultaneously.

 

Roger looks so vulnerable, flushed and sweaty, his expression unguarded, caught unawares by the _mood_ of the whole situation.

 

Brian pulls out and the world takes its time to slither back in place. Roger holds onto the sheets, his knuckles turning white.

 

“I’ll be right back”, Brian says and disappears into the bathroom. When he emerges only a few moments later with a damp towel in his hand, he finds Roger curled around the pillow he must have retrieved from the floor. He lays down behind him, wipes sweat, lube and semen off Roger and throws the towel where the pillow sat before.

 

“That was not what I meant when I said you’re allowed to make me suffer”, Roger murmurs. He is crying softly, and a sob escapes him when Brian’s fingers ghost over his cheek. “Don’t do that.” He turns his head away, trying to shake the hand off.

 

“I love you, Brian, I do. But I can’t do this. You _know_ this. I thought you knew this.” Roger clutches his pillow tighter. Brian gasps inwardly at the first three words.

 

He hugs Roger from behind, his arms reaching around his torso, and engulfs Roger in a strong, secure embrace, careful not to be too tender.

 

“I love you too, Rog.”, he says.

 

Roger turns his head and looks at him with longing and a heavy heart for just a moment. One hand releases the pillow and holds onto one of Brian’s arms instead.

 

“You can open the curtains if you’d like”, Roger says. Brian releases him and scoots over to the edge of the bed to do just that. Warm sunlight streams in through the window. It makes the scene look almost ethereal, glowing skin and white sheets and sweaty hair shining. The framed painting over the headboard shows the ocean, drawn in shades of blue watercolour.

 

The birds outside sing their sorrows away as Roger and Brian lay on the bed in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! If you did, I will be eternally grateful if you leave a comment, and don't forget to tell me in case you want me to write more Oneshots like this! :-)


End file.
